


a christmas prince

by igniteyourbones



Category: A Christmas Prince (2017), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A Christmas Prince AU, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, i blame netflix for this, i want to be sorry for this but i truly am not, prince bucky au, shame on me and shame on my cow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igniteyourbones/pseuds/igniteyourbones
Summary: an aspiring young journalist goes undercover to find out the truth about the dashing prince bucky who is poised to be king, only to discover more than she bargained for.--aka the 'a christmas prince' bucky fic nobody wanted or asked for. if you haven't seen netflix's wonderfully terrible 'a christmas prince', what have you been doing this festive season?





	1. one.

So naturally, your first big exposé as an actual journalist couldn’t have gone more awry. You knew it had been too good to be true when Maxine offered you your first solo article following the impending coronation of the runaway prince of Aldovia. Despite having zero interest in the affairs of an international royal family, if it meant getting to step away from fixing up the absolute garbage that was the articles that landed on your desk for the chance to actually write one of your own, you were hardly going to turn it down. 

Only now you wish you had the foresight to know better and to realise that your foray into professional journalism would not ever go smooth. If it wasn’t bad enough that you’d had to abandon your family over Christmas, had some asshole with a weird beard steal your cab right from under you after arriving in Aldovia, flown six hours only for the press conference that would be your big break to be cancelled, and then somehow found yourself agreeing when the security guard who found you snooping asked if you were the new nurse for Prince Steven, now you found yourself face to face with aforementioned cab-stealing weird-beard guy. Only he is sans beard, actually very attractive, and oh. The runaway prince of Aldovia, now returned. 

Watching the recognition slowly make its way across your face, the corners of his lips curled upwards in a satisfied smirk. If only the face that smirk was attached to wasn’t so handsome, then you’d be able to think straight and get yourself out of this mess, but he’s somewhat memorising. With his eyes crinkling at the corners, a mix of blue and grey that matched the mischievousness of that smirk, and a jawline that could put the marble statues of the Greek gods out in the courtyard to shame, you can hardly remember your name when he asks it of you. Or rather, your fake name that you must offer up now that you’re under the watchful eye of the Queen of Aldovia and her other son, Prince Steven, who stands stooped beside her with a crutch on either side to keep him upright. Prince Steven looks tiny in comparison to his brother, who stands tall and regal and so very charming. Prince Steven looks every bit fragile as his mother frets over him and demands the nearest guard bring her son a chair least he exhaust himself. Prince Steven huffs, trying to argue that he is absolutely fine, mother, please quit worrying, but the Queen will hear nothing of it and so he is brought a chair, hunching down in it with a frown.

Prince James continues to smirk, tilting his head in your direction. “I see you managed to hail another cab just fine then,” he says easily, friendly jest in his voice. “As your asshole cab-stealer, I must offer you my sincerest apologies,” he continues, giving a little bow and his grin widens when he sees a flush cross your cheeks. 

“I – uh – your Highness, I – I must… I didn’t –” you stutter helplessly, the absurdity of the situation becoming more overwhelming by the minute. “You look different,” you settle on lamely, for the man with the shoulder-length hair shoved under a navy baseball cap and the messy scruff over his chin did not resemble any likeness to the clean shaven, handsome prince that grins at you currently. Without the beard, you can see he has an indent in his chin that only makes him look all the more frustratingly endearing. “It, uh, suits you better than the, um, weird beard.” When his eyebrows flick upwards, you groan at your own foolish tongue, shaking your head desperately. “I didn’t mean weird, I meant…”

“I think you have said quite enough,” the Queen interrupts, one eyebrow raised sharply and not in amusement like that of her son’s. “You must be tired from a long flight. Please, Mrs Almere, show the young lady to her room so she may rest. Your work begins first thing tomorrow.” 

“Right, yes,” you agree, relieved at being stopped before you could embarrass yourself further. “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” you add, giving a hasty curtsy before Mrs Almere, the severe looking head housekeeper of the Palace, sweeps by to collect you up and remove you from the room. As you are being pushed from the room, you manage to catch a glimpse of Prince James and Prince Steven sharing a little smile between themselves before Prince James is being drawn into his mother’s arms for a tight embrace that spoke of a woman who had not known when she would next be reunited with her son. 

Your lodgings, or rather the lodgings set up for the real nurse to Prince Steven, are more luxurious than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life. For one, the room you occupy is big enough to hold your entire shoddy New York apartment and then some, with the colour scheme being that of white and cream, with heavy accents of gold such as the frame of the huge four-poster bed and the claw-foot bathtub that stood proudly in the expansive en suite. There’s even a Christmas tree set up in the corner of your room, decorated with elegant silver and gold ornaments and white lights that looks so unlike the tacky fake Christmas tree you and your family had put up every year, with its patchwork tinsel and gaudy, mismatched decorations collected over a lifetime. It suddenly occurs to you how far from home you are, and also how out of your depths you have become. Here you stood, in an actual palace home to an esteemed royal family to whom you are lying to in order to get the information needed to write a killer first journalism piece. 

Taking in a deep sigh, you shake off the insecurities clawing at your throat. There’s no point giving up now, not when you’d made it so far and are currently on ground zero, with access to all the first-hand information needed to write the best piece you can. Feeling your earlier weariness dissipate, you unpack quickly and boot up your laptop, wanting to go over what information you had already in preparation for the days to come. 

The runaway Prince, also known as Prince James Buchanan Barnes of Aldovia, had been absent in the palace for the last two years and instead of attending to royal duties, had been gallivanting around the world with numerous women on his arm. It seemed the allures of drinking, partying, and womanising were more enticing than that of learning how to run a country and had it not been for his late father passing on some few weeks ago, he may have never returned. Now the question remained whether he would pick up the duties left for him and accede to the throne, or whether he would abdicate in order to return to the charmed life of booze and women he seemed to so adore. 

You consider his handsome face, that cock-sure grin of his and find yourself certain that he must be negotiating a way for him to give up his title. He cancelled today’s press conference with no explanation, which meant that he’s pressing for time and a way out. Regardless of what he decides, you now have complete access to the goings-on of the royal family and you’ll ride this wave as long as you can get away with it. 

Turning off your computer, you change into your nightwear and slip between the expensive sheets of the bed that feel like buttery silk against your skin. Despite the comforts that surround you and the complete quiet that you’ve never had in your New York apartment, sleep evades you for the longest time. Your mind is occupied solely by the happenings of the Prince, who he is, what he’s been running from, and what his plans are for the future. This is your chance to do what you have always dreamed, to see your name printed in one of New York’s biggest magazines. All you have to do is get a little closer to the Prince and with a face like his, attitude aside, it didn’t seem as horrid as first thought. It might even be easy.

**\--**

Whatever had felt easy at night, by daytime was anything but. 

“Let me guess,” Prince Steven asks from where he sat on his bed, clad in only a white singlet and trousers, his skinny chest caving in heavily after each breath. “You’ve not done this before, have you?”

He looks up at you with bright blue eyes, piercing and too clever to lie to, though you know you must try. Your heart stutters in your chest as you fumble with the blood pressure cuff, shaking off his words with a strange little laugh. The cuff sits awkwardly around his thin bicep, slipping down despite how you pump it up as quickly as possible. 

“Don’t be silly,” you try, offering him what you hope is an easy smile. “I’ve done this plenty. It is simply a different model to what I am used to at home.”

Prince Steven’s lips quirk at the edges and he continues to watch you struggle with silent amusement. First thing this morning, you had been handed the list of his ailments and his treatment plans, seven pages in total. Any illness or unfortunate disability one could be born with, Prince Steven had and the list of medicines he must have and the activities he must avoid felt endless. He could not stand straight, his crooked spine curving him forward even with the crutches that kept him upright. His knees knocked together, he wore thick-framed glasses on his nose to combat his poor eye-sight, his lungs rattled with every breath, and his heart was notorious for not beating as it should. He shared almost no physical similarities to that of his brother, who stood tall and imposing with no hint of any health issues, with his slight frame, thin yellow hair, and his pale skin that had not been exposed to the fierce sun of Ibiza like that of his brother’s. 

Yet he is gentle and kind, even in his disbelief of your imaginary skills as a nurse, and he had treated you with every polite kindness expected of a prince while his brother had done anything but. Prince Steven had even apologised for his brother’s behaviour the previous day, stating that he hoped that you would not think ill of his brother for he truly was genuine in nature but did have a teasing streak that he had never quite been able to tame. 

“I know what you must be thinking,” Prince Steven began, as you continue to fumble with the blood pressure cuff, and when you raise your gaze to his, he gives you a tiny smile. “Poor little prince, never to ascend the throne or achieve greatness like that of his brother.” His smile does not fade nor cover any anguish over what he believes to be her thoughts. He shrugs then, unaffected. “It’s okay, it’s on the minds of everyone who meets me. For how can one Prince be so handsome and healthy and the other so… not?”

“I was not thinking that at all, Prince Steven,” you interrupt, placing the cuff down on the table and taking half a step back to catch his eye so he could see the seriousness in your expression. “I think there is a lot more to person, and to a prince, than the status of their health. You have a lovely manner, so welcoming and kind, and I believe that speaks for a lot more than anything else you have mentioned. Besides,” you pause, offering him a tiny smile in the hopes he would not take offence to your next words, “you’ve never stolen a cab from me, so I think it’s fair to say I like you a fair deal more than your brother.”

Prince Steven gives a sudden laugh. “At last, I have my brother bet in something other than ailments. I am truly pleased.”

“As you should be. Your chivalry far outweighs anything he has to offer,” you say, before wincing. “Forgive me. It seems I haven’t learnt my lesson from yesterday about running my mouth.” 

“I prefer it, actually, as does my brother,” Prince Steven muses, kicking his feet back and forth under the bed. “There are so many people around us who do nothing but hide how they truly feel, especially now that our father is gone. To have someone be honest with us is refreshing.”

“But completely outside of my status,” you remind him, picking up the stethoscope from his bedside table. His room did not look to be that of a young man’s, but instead of a hospital patient, with every surface littered with equipment and medicines with a whole wall dedicated to a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, no doubt filled with Prince Steven’s only routes of escape when his body failed him and left him bedridden. You frown, feeling a deep sympathy for him though you know he does not want it. “I am sorry, Prince Steven, to hear of your father’s passing.”

A quiet grief clouded over the blue of Prince Steven’s eyes as he nods. “He was a great king and an even better father. Even though he and Bucky never got on much at the end, I know they loved each other and that Bucky will do right by our father. He’ll step up and be just as great, if not better. There is such a compassion to him that is unseen by so many.”

“Really?” you ask, thinking of the countless tabloids you had read as research in your lead up to arriving in Aldovia that had all said the same thing of Prince James; that he cared only for himself and for his latest model of the week. Prince Steven frowns at the tone of your voice and you shake your head, apologetic. “Sorry, I do not mean to offend. I do not know him as you do, or as the people of Aldovia do.”

“You know him only from how the press present him then, I assume?” Prince Steven asks. There’s no anger to his voice as you’d expected, given the fire that had appeared in his eyes, only a weariness as if he’s simply tired of such nonsense. When you nod meekly, he gives a shuddery sigh that rocks his whole body. “The press love to colour him as a playboy who cares little for his country and his duties, but that is not him at all. There is a much deeper, kinder side to him than the person they’ve made him out to be. I’m hoping you can be the one to present that side of him to the world.”

Your hands still around the stethoscope, your whole body frozen but your eyes as they slowly move upwards to meet Prince Steven’s steely gaze.

“Excuse me?” you ask, hoarse, certain that he cannot mean what you think he means. 

“I may be sickly but I am not stupid,” Prince Steven says easily, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It does not take a genius to know that you have never taken a blood pressure or a pulse in your entire life. You’re not a nurse, are you?”

“I – no,” you admit, ducking your head. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just got caught up in everything and couldn’t stop myself.”

“You’re after a story, are you not?” he asks, leaning forward to catch your eye again. “I know you’re a journalist, I saw you exiting after the press conference was cancelled.”

You raise your head, surprised. “But you said nothing as I was introduced to you? And to the Queen?” A hot, uncomfortable flush warms your body as you think of how utterly awful you must seem to him. To have lied to everybody he cares for, to pretend with so little guilt for what you are doing. How he has not already exposed you and had you thrown from the palace is beyond you. “I am so sorry, Prince Steven. I… I know it may seem unlikely but I promise I did not wish anything bad by this. I was offered my first ever chance to write a solo piece for the magazine I work for and I just wanted to have a story, so badly. I will go, right now.”

Before you have a chance to turn away and escape, Prince Steven reaches out to take hold of your wrist. When you finally find it in you to raise your eyes to his face, there is still no anger there, only gentle amusement. 

“Had I wanted you gone, I would’ve raised the alarm yesterday,” he explains. “But I think we can come to an arrangement instead, you and I.”

Your eyebrows furrow at him, uncertain, and he lets go of your wrist now that he knows he has your complete engagement. 

“What sort of arrangement?”

“You need a story about the Runaway Prince, right? And I want my brother to be seen for who he truly is; to have his kindness and compassion shown to the world instead of the ridiculous nonsense they spew about him instead. If I keep your secret, you write your article. Only I want you to write the truth. It’s all I ask, that you don’t fabricate or exaggerate anything you see or experience in your time here.”

“So… I can write about the fact he stole my cab?” you ask, causing Prince Steven to grin. 

“Yes, I will allow you that,” he laughs, shrugging. “I know that during your time here, you will come to see him as he really is and if stealing your cab in the beginning is his only flaw, I can live with that.”

“That’s all, then? I write a truthful article about your brother and his coronation and you won’t throw me in the dungeon?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Prince Steven says, a glint in the sharp blue of his eyes. “We don’t have a dungeon. Merely an alligator pit into which we throw those who commit treason.” 

There’s a moment’s pause where he remains looking as serious as ever that you almost believe him, until he cracks a smile. “Come on, now, I’m kidding.”

You find yourself laughing, nodding your head. “Okay, noted.” You can’t believe it, that you had been exposed one second and then invited to stay on regardless the next. It seems surreal, but then all of this had felt like a fever dream thus far. All you have to do is be honest in your recount, something you planned on from the beginning, though you wondered how your view of Prince James would stack up in his adoring brother’s eyes. You only hope Prince James is as good as Prince Steven believes him to be so that you will not let the younger brother down. 

“There is one other condition,” Prince Steven says suddenly, as though the thought had only just formed in his mind and he looks up at you eagerly. “I want you to take me tobogganing.”

Of all the requests you had expected him to make, this had not been one and you feel your eyes grow wide. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve read the list of things you’re not allowed to do and tobogganing breaks several of those rules.”

Prince Steven raises his chin, eyes defiant. “My mother loves and worries for me so much that she forgets I am a person, not a china doll. If I could have one moment of freedom, to escape the confines of this palace and to feel normal, I believe it would do my health a world of good. Plus,” he looks down, his hands fumbling in his lap as he gives a one-armed shrug. “It looks fun.”

You feel your resolve soften instantly, regardless of all the worries flying about your mind at the mere thought of what could happen should you allow this, but before you can say anything, there is a swift knock on the door with no time to answer before it is flying open to reveal none other than Prince James in all his grandeur. Despite being what one could consider dressed down, in charcoal trousers and a fitted black cashmere turtle neck, he still looks incredible, regal and untouchable with a wide grin on his face and a brightness to his eyes that leaves him looking distressingly dashing. It’s no wonder he has the people of Aldovia in love with him despite his absence, and half the world wanting to know his business despite his being a foreign prince. 

“Good morning, Stevie,” he greets cheerfully, swinging an arm around Prince Steven’s bony shoulders and jostling him lightly, before looking in your direction, the curve of his lips flicking upwards. “And good morning to you, too.”

You give a shaky curtsy. “Good morning, your Highness.” He screws up his nose and you instantly worry you’ve done something to offend. “I’m sorry, is that… not how I address you?”

“It is, but isn’t it awfully dull? Titles just seem so divisive and boring. You may call me Bucky,” he offers, his arm still slung around Prince Steven’s shoulders as the younger man looked on, amused. 

“And give the Queen more reason to toss me out? I shouldn’t think so,” you point out, before realising you’ve yet again let your mouth get away from you. Prince James’ eyebrows quirk upwards, as do his lips, and you shake your head in an attempt to backtrack. “Respectfully, sir. Err – your Highness. Royal highness? Um.”

Prince James laughs easily. “As I’m giving you permission to call me as such, my mother cannot have much of say in the matter. However, if it makes you feel better, you may call me Bucky when it is just us few.”

You didn’t see that happening often and probably for good reason, your mind seems to escape you whenever you’re in close proximity to the crown prince. Rather than voice this and push yourself into further embarrassment, you merely nod as Prince James turns back to his brother. 

“Are you well, little brother?”

“Quite.” Prince Steven nods. “Though I am surprised to see you awake so early.”

“Ah, you caught me. I’m sneaking out, as it would be. Howlie and I have a lot of catching up to do. Be a prince and give my apologies to mother once she is up?”

Prince Steven makes a face. “You want me to face mother’s wrath when she finds out you’ve forgone important meetings to take your horse out for a run? Buck, you know how disappointed she will be.”

“It will only be for an hour or two, tops,” Bucky points out before giving a little sigh. “I just need some time for myself, to return to the person I am expected to be here. All the most pressing meetings are for this afternoon, I will only miss breakfast with the royal counsel which will be as dull and uneventful as ever. What do you say, hey? For me, pal?” He jostles Prince Steven again, playfully, before his hand drops to press into Prince Steven’s ribs, managing a suffocated laugh from the younger boy.

“Fine, fine!” Prince Steven concedes, batting his brother away. “Only if you leave now and stop that nonsense!” He’s smiling now, shaking his head at his brother. “You owe me, you know.”

“Always,” Prince James says solemnly, rising to his feet before turning to bow slightly at his brother. “You are more than a prince, you are simply a saint.”

Prince Steven rolls his eyes. “Are you done?”

“For now, yes,” Prince James says with another little grin. “I shall leave you be with this lovely lady.” He looks to you then, a glint the blue grey of his eyes that is undeniable charming. “And I hope for your sake pal, that she’s better at nursing than she is at addressing royals.” He winks at you, quick, before he’s turning and disappearing out of the room before you even get a chance at thinking up a retort. 

“So,” Prince Steve asks, turning back to you with a smile. “Do we have a deal?”

You blink several times, shaking your head slightly in disbelief. “Are you sure you want me writing a story about him and being honest about my feelings? Because if I can be frank, they’re not entirely pleasant as of right now.”

Prince Steven gives a pleasant shrug. “He grows on you, I promise. You’ll figure that out during your time here.”

There’s a twisting, tight feeling in your stomach that has you hesitating, trying to figure out your mind as Prince Steven continues to look at you, expectantly. Finally, you give a little sigh and push the hair that had fallen free from your French braid behind your ears. 

“I must admit, this arrangement does seem strange. You do not know me and yet you are willing to allow me to see into the personal life of your family on good faith alone. Surely you can see why I am hesitant?”

“It has been said that I’m an incredibly good judge of character,” Prince Steven says. “To be honest with you, I like you. You’ve yet to treat me as an invalid as almost everyone else who meets me does, and you happen to make my brother laugh. I feel you’re not one to be easily intimidated which is important in a place like this. I trust you to do right by my family and myself, am I wrong in this assumption?”

You consider it for a moment before you shake your head. This job means everything to you, a chance to make a name for yourself, but you will only do what feels right and you can’t imagine crossing the Aldovian Royal family, beyond pretending to be a nurse for their son, which you still claim is not entirely your fault given nobody gave you a chance to fully explain yourself. 

You give a little nod. “Alright, Prince Steven, you have yourself a deal.”

A brilliant grin grows on Prince Steven’s face. “Excellent. And if you wouldn’t mind, Steve will do just fine.” He sticks out a feeble hand that shakes a little in the space between you. 

You accept it, giving it a firm shake as you find yourself smiling in return. “Alright then, Steve, I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologise for NOTHING.
> 
> a christmas prince was ridiciulous and awful and i loved it but i finished it thinking, i could write a prince bucky au about this and here we are. truly not sorry.
> 
> this is completely un-beta'd with various plot holes (like why would they hire someone from another country??? idk plot convenience i guess!) and mistakes but i figured i needed to keep to the 'a christmas prince' aesthetic as much as possible, so.
> 
> merry christmas! happy holidays! seasons greetings and all that! enjoy!


	2. two.

“Wait, let me get this straight: if you brother decides to abdicate, that’s the man who is next in line?” you ask, barely able to disguise the disgust in your voice in regards to the man that had just sauntered into the room, which causes an amused smile to surface on Steve’s face. 

You’ve been at the palace exactly three days and so far you’ve managed to avoid revealing yourself and had quite enjoyed getting to know Steve and about the traditions of Aldovia, putting away titbits here and there to add to the overall feel of your story. The temperature had dropped since you’re arrival, falling below zero, and there’s a snowfall occurring outside though you scarcely notice given the blazing fire you’re sat in front of. Steve had requested you accompany him to an annual evening tradition held in the palace where the household staff and the royal family would come together to decorate a Christmas tree in the Queen’s favourite sitting room, enjoying drinks and food and sharing tales of their late king. It’s quite a touching affair and you can see just how much the Queen loves and appreciates her staff, how she interacts with them like lifelong friends, and how she toasts to them as family before they all raise their glasses in a memory of late King James the First. 

It’s almost a little too warm next to the fire, your fingers curled around a mug of mulled wine, but you feel content sat next to Steve on the sofa, watching everything happening with keen interest as Steve offers commentary on the different relationships in the room. When Lord Brock made his entrance, you had an instant dislike for the man and had felt Steve grow tense beside you, revealing he had similar thoughts. You look at him now, trying to imagine him as king ruling over this palace, and give a little shudder. It’s everything about him that’s off: he could be considered handsome in a traditional sense with his thick dark hair and strong jawline covered in stubble, but it’s the way he held himself, the greedy searching look in his eye, and the way he seemed to care little for anyone in the room that he regarded as beneath him. He carries his superiority proudly, all too comfortable with his nobility and how that sets him apart. 

Steve nods. “He’s a cousin of ours, unfortunately, which puts him next in the line of succession. He and Bucky have never got along, and Brock would love nothing more than to snatch the throne from him.” Steve narrows his eyes at his cousin from over his mug of hot chocolate. That image alone is almost humorous with the juxtaposition of the intense dislike in his face matched with the brightly coloured Christmas sweater he’s currently drowning in. 

“But what about you?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from the simpering Lord Brock to look at Steve. “You’re Bucky’s younger brother, surely that puts you directly behind him?”

A strange look passes over Steve’s face as he shifts in place, his eyes ducking down to look intensely at the rich hot chocolate he holds cupped between skinny fingers. He clears his throat and gives a small shrug. “A country is only as good and as strong as its king. A sickly king would be laughable. If Bucky will not take the crown, I cannot have it either.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you answer, shaking your head fiercely. “I don’t know who has put that idea in your head but it’s outdated and just plain wrong. There’s more to being a king than physical strength. Compassion, intelligence, wisdom, substance: that’s the stuff that matters.” Steve looked up then, giving a small little smile before shaking his head. You sigh, reaching over to squeeze his hand softly. “For what it’s worth, in getting to know you these last few days, I think you would make a wonderful king should Bucky not be willing.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, his voice so quiet it almost disappeared beneath the incessant buzz of voices filling the room. 

Before you could say anything more, a shadow fell over the two of you and you look up to find yourself face to face with no other than Lord Brock. He’s wearing a smile that made your skin itch, something so slimly about it and reminiscent of the men that would corner you in bars and trap you with unwanted compliments until they could get what they wanted. Only worse is that he’s of name and wealth which makes him all the more dangerous. 

“Ah, ickle Stevie, how have you been? Lungs still holding up?” Lord Brock asks, his thin lips twisting into a smirk and there’s no real care behind the words, merely childish teasing. 

Steve narrows his eyes but sits up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. “Clearly,” he deadpans, not moving his unforgiving gaze from Lord Brock’s face. “I see you remain as greasy as ever. Hoping it will ease your way into that throne?”

Lord Brock almost takes a half-step back, so surprised in Steve’s cold response that you can’t quite hold back a laugh though you wish you had when Lord Brock’s beady glare falls on you. “And who’s this then?” Lord Brock question, leaning in to peer at you. “I didn’t realise the chambermaids were now allowed to converse with royalty outside of their duties.”

“I beg your pardon,” you begin, momentarily forgetting yourself. Before you could say anything further and get yourself into trouble for berating a man of much higher status than your own, Bucky’s low voice intercedes as he appears behind Lord Brock with an unpleasant expression. 

“You do so easily make friends wherever you go, do you not, Lord Brock, what, with that charming demeanour of yours?” Bucky says, his voice icy as Lord Brock flinches at Bucky’s voice before turning around and holding his arms out with a wide smile.

“Cousin,” he greets warmly. “It is so good to see you again, it has been too long. I was wondering when they would eventually smoke you out of hiding after leaving your country on its own for so long.”

“The country was in the best hands of my mother, never you mind.” Bucky eyes Lord Brock warily, a coldness in the grey-blue of his eyes you had not seen before. It changes his entire face, though it makes him no less handsome, and you wish for that cheeky smile of his to return to bring vigour back into his expression. He’s dressed in an expensive navy suit that is perfectly fitted to his stature, making him look all the more regal as he stares down his cousin. “Though I suppose you believe you can do better?”

Lord Brock smirks. “I have been preparing, in the high chance the duty falls upon me. A country needs to a king who wants to rule, not one that hides from his duty by spending his time whoring around Europe.”

Bucky’s hands clench into fists but his face remains impassive. “A country needs a king who treats all his subjects as equals, who cares even for the chambermaids, who are just as important and a part of this household as any other worker and deserving to be here, though that is not who she is.” Bucky’s eyes flick to yours and you see a glimmer of something kinder in them before he’s looking back at his cousin. “I ask that you apologise for your inherent rudeness and seek forgiveness for your elitist behaviour. She is Stevie’s nurse and one of our honoured guests for this evening and you will show her the respect she deserves, not just because of that, but because she is simply another human being standing in front of you. Or has your useless title muddled your brain to the point where you have forgotten basic manners and decency?”

All the colour from Lord Brock’s face drains away as his mouth falls open, closed, open, closed as he fights for a way to defend himself against the verbal lashing Bucky had just unleashed upon him. You feel as though you are doing much the same, stunned by this display but also impressed, and when you turn to look to Steve, you know he feels the same from that proud smile upon his face. Finally, Lord Brock turns to you with a lethal look in his eye as he swallows down his pride and bows deeply. 

“I apologise for my earlier behaviour,” he tells you woodenly, straightening back up again to look at you down his nose. “I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.”

Before he can even give you a chance to answer, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd leaving you looking at Bucky in disbelief while Bucky merely shakes his head. “Unlike him, I am truly sorry about him,” Bucky says, taking a seat on the armchair beside the sofa and giving you a small smile, quirking one eyebrow upwards. “He has a bit of an inadequacy issue and it makes him a little cranky.”

You find yourself laughing. “Yes, I can see that. I’m sure he’s, ah, lovely deep down beneath that.”

“Way, way deep down,” Stevie comments, and Bucky grins in agreement, reaching forward to grab a sugar cookie from the table. 

Attempting not to bring attention to yourself, you find your gaze keeps drifting back to Bucky as he and Steve continue to jest about their cousin, finding yourself unable to look away from his smile that lights up his whole face and leaves his eyes looking unfairly blue against the lush navy of his suit. He looks every part a dashing crown prince but it’s not his looks that have sold you on this, you realise, but the bit of heart he has shown that has you recognising some of what Steve’s been trying to convince you of.

“So, have you been settling in to the palace okay?” Bucky is asking you, his whole body angled towards you and it’s almost overwhelming to have his sole attention fall onto you. “Stevie’s not been boring you to pieces with history about the place, has he? He’s very fond of it.”

“Rude,” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. 

Before you can come to Steve’s defence or even return the bright smile Bucky’s offering you, the Queen’s voice interrupts as she calls everyone’s attention to where she stands beside the large fir Christmas tree that is covered in lights and sparkly baubles but is missing its main ornaments. 

“My husband believed in the importance of family and believed at this time of the year, it’s so important to reflect on those who mean the most to you. For me, that is my family – my sons, and my wonderful household that surrounds me. I cannot thank you enough for all the work you do and for your loyalty and kindness, especially in the last few months. My husband loved you all as I love you and I wish more than anything that he could be here,” the Queen says, her eyes moving around the room as a tremble takes to her voice.

You look to Steve and then to Bucky, noticing the matching solemn expressions that have now befallen them and you have to tamper down the sudden urge that appears within in you to reach out to them both to comfort them. The queen moves forward then and holds up a small, wooden chest that is carved with winter images along the outside. 

“My husband also loved to create with his hands and found great joy in making hand-made gifts, as you all known from being recipients of such gifts.” A small murmur of acknowledgment moves around the room and the Queen smiles, unlatching the wooden box to reveal a large wooden acorn ornament. “I found this in King James’ possessions and I can only assume it was to be gifted to me this year, only he never got the chance to do so. I want to ask my son, Prince James to come forward and place it on the tree. James?”

Bucky’s head lifted at his name and he nodded, moving to his mother’s side and pressing a kiss to her cheek as he accepted the wooden acorn. Turning to the tree, he finds the perfect place for the ornament, sliding it onto the branch before looking back at everyone around the room and sliding his arm around his mother to bring her in close. The room breaks out into gentle applause, for the late King and for their soon to be king, and you join in, watching as Bucky consoles his mother. There’s something so touching about the moment until you find your gaze drifting to where Lord Brock stands by the door, his hands by his sides, and his eyes narrowed while he watches Bucky, leaving an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. 

**\--**

You were meant to meet Steve in the kitchen fifteen minutes ago but had stupidly overslept so now you race through the pristine corridors of the palace, hoping not to catch the attention of Mrs Almere who would take great pleasure in admonishing you until the sound of a piano being played catches your attention. You slow down, listening as you recognise the tune to be an old Christmas carol, and begin to follow the music that leads you away from the kitchen and towards one of the many sitting rooms. It’s a slow, almost wistful rendition of I’ll Be Home for Christmas, played so beautifully you couldn’t resist finding the musician responsible and you peek through the half open door to find Bucky behind the piano, his eyes focused as his hands move effortlessly up and down the keys. 

It almost feels like an intimate side of the prince you shouldn’t be seeing, a side of him you had never imagined he had based on what you know from the tabloids, but he looks completely at home with such wonderful music coming from his fingertips. He’s dressed down again today, in dark trousers and a comfy maroon sweater, but it doesn’t take away how truly handsome he is. You can’t quite look away, though there’s a part of you that wants to whip out your phone to capture this moment though you’re not quite sure whether it’s to have a keepsake of this moment for yourself or to add to your story to show that there’s more to Prince James than what people think. Before you have a chance to make up your mind, the door creaks open an inch further and captures Bucky’s attention. He looks up, his hands stilling and the music disappearing, as his gaze lands on you looking sheepish in the doorway. 

“I – uh – sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you gush out instantly. “It’s just, you play so beautifully and I didn’t expect…”

“It to be me?” he offers, a little smile tugging on his lips. He shrugs easily, getting to his feet and closing the piano lid. “I’ve been having lessons since I was five. At first I did it because my father made me take lessons but then I came to really love it. It’s quite a lovely way to escape.” He runs his hand along the deep mahogany of the piano lid with a fond expression on his face. “I think my father knew it was what I would need, growing up in a life such as this.”

“Your father sounded like a wonderful man, and a great king.”

Bucky nods. “He was, truly. I miss him and his gentle wisdom.”

“It must be hard,” you say, taking a few steps forward into the sitting room, “to have his footsteps to fill. Not – uh – not that you are there to replace him but you know… It must be a lot of pressure on you.” 

“It’s hard to know what to do,” Bucky agrees with a small, sad smile. “My father was born for his role, he loved his country and his people so much, it’s all that was in his blood and he believed I was to grow up and be the same. Don’t get me wrong, I too have a deep love for this place, it is my home, my people, but I have none of the confidence he had that I will do right by them. I fear I cannot rule well if I do not long for it as my sole duty in life.”

“So is there… truth in this talk about abdication? I mean, are you back because you want to take over from your father or would you be happier in keeping to your current lifestyle?” The words slip out of you before you have a chance to stop yourself, your journalistic curiosity at it’s finest, but you immediately regret them when you see the slight pain that appears in Bucky’s expression.

“And what current lifestyle is that, exactly?” he asks carefully, taking a few steps across the polished wooden floors towards you. 

“I, uh, I mean there’s a lot said in the papers…”

“Of my love for women, wine, and song?” Bucky moves in closer, his eyes watching you keenly. “Is that what you think of me also?”

Having him so close to you is unfairly distracting, his eyes looking all the more blue given he’s standing right beside you, but you manage to shake your head. “I must admit I don’t know what to think, because I don’t really know who you are,” you answer, and he gives another sad smile.

“Guess that makes two of us,” he murmurs, his lips twitching before he turns away and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up at the front. “Enough of that. What exciting things have you got planned for your day?”

The sudden change in demeanour is disconcerting but it reminds you that Steve is waiting for you. “Oh no, I am so, so late. I’m meant to be meeting Steve in the kitchen. We’re making Christmas cookies, his request.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise in delight at this. “Christmas cookies? Stevie loved making them when he was younger, but his last nurse said the heat of the kitchen was bad for his lungs, miserable wench. Nice to see that you’re a vast improvement.” He winks at you then, a proper grin taking over his features. “Mind if I tag along?”

“You don’t have any pressing princely duties?” you ask, almost playful as you return his smile.

Bucky laughs. “Nothing that can’t be put off, regardless of my mother’s horror. Don’t worry, they will find me when they are in absolute need of me. There’s nowhere in this palace I can truly hide.” He rolls his eyes before gesturing to the door. “Lead the way!”

By the time you and Bucky had made it to the kitchen, Steve was already pressing festive cookie cutters into rolled out dough. He looks up at the sound of both of your voices, a smudge of flour across his nose, and gives his brother a knowing quirk of his eyebrow.

“Shirking duties yet again, Buck?” he teases, placing a star cookie onto the baking tray.

“Lay off, would you Stevie? It’s Christmas!” Bucky shoots back, his voice full of fond affection as he takes a seat next to Steve and wrestles him for a Christmas tree cutter. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this,” he adds, his voice softer now. 

You take a seat beside Steve and find an angel cutter for yourself. “This used to be my favourite Christmas Eve tradition, making cookies for Father Christmas. I just remember being so excited, wearing my new festive PJs and wondering how I was ever going to get to sleep!”

Bucky grins. “I used to wonder how I could get away with a lie-in, given Stevie would always be up at the crack of dawn and into my room to wake me.”

“Oh please!” Steve huffs. “You were always just as excited as I was. Remember that year I slept in and you couldn’t contain yourself and eventually barged in demanding we go check our stockings?”

You laugh as the two brothers continue to bicker while the baking tray slowly fills up with all different shapes. The kitchen is cosy and warm with the smell of sugar and cinnamon hanging heavy in the air and your cheeks have begun to ache from smiling as you share old stories and Christmas traditions. For an hour, you’ve managed to forget the strange circumstances you are in and ignore the growing guilt gnawing at you to simply enjoy the company of the two men beside you. It’s only once Mrs Almere tracks you down that reality strikes you. The three of you had just been about to start decorate the first batch of cookies, now cooled, when she barges in and immediately latches her sight onto Bucky.

“Your Highness, we have been looking for you everywhere! You do realise that the Annual Christmas Fundraiser for the Aldovian Orphanage is tomorrow and you were meant to at the rehearsal over an hour ago?” Mrs Almere’s eyebrows are drawn tight and low across her eyes as she looks down her nose at Bucky. “Your mother is beside herself. This is your first public appearance as the future King, you cannot afford to simply make it up as you go along!”

Bucky nods easily, getting to his feet and brushing off the icing sugar dusting the front of his sweater. “You’re right, Mrs Almere, I’m sorry. Please, lead the way,” he says, his words genuine and enough that Mrs Almere’s mouth grows slightly less pinched as she nods, turning on her heel to leave the kitchen but not before shooting you a reproachful look. Bucky gives you a small smile and reaches out to ruffle Steve’s hair, laughing at his indignant squawk. “Duty calls,” he sighs quietly, before nodding to you and Steve. “I’ll catch you around.”

Steve watches him go with a strange expression on his face before turning back to his star cookie, his face very decidedly determined as he begins to cover it in white icing. You wait until he’s finished his line work before you nudge him gently, giving him a small smile.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, course,” Steve says easily, before a crease appears between his eyebrows. “I think that’s the longest amount of time I’ve spent with Bucky in… well, in years. I may not ever get that again, especially now that he is to be king. It’s not… It’s not his fault, of course,” Steve rushes, shaking his head. “It’s all part of being king.”

“Perhaps, but it’s okay to miss him, you know,” you say softly, before nudging him again, hoping to get a smile out of him. “It’s down to the two of us now to get these finished and I’m three cookies in front of you. Better hurry if you want to beat me, winner gets first pick!”

Steve grins. “You’re on!”

**\--**

The following day brings with it beautiful crisp winter weather with everything layered in white from an overnight snowfall but with sunshine pouring over everything leaving it gleaming. It’s the perfect day for the Aldovian Orphanage Charity event and having the sunshine only seems to heighten the moods of everyone attending. You’re pushing Steve about in his wheelchair, which he had conceded to after his mother had argued that the crowds and the fresh snow would be too much on his body, passing giggling children holding bags of popcorn and sugared nuts, and gaggles of parents with their faces flushed from conversation and mulled wine. The air is sweet yet crisp and every inch of the town’s square has been decorated, including an impressive Santa’s Grotto complete with an actual Santa giving away small tokens in exchange for the gifts donated for the orphanage. 

You’re huddled deep in your coat, thankful for the extra warmth despite the sunshine, listening as Steve explains the history of the tradition to hold the charity event and how the royal family became the guardians of the orphanage. It’s interesting enough, but there’s something about the way Steve’s eyes brighten as he recounts it all, the extreme pride in his voice and the warmth that speak of how much he cares about his family and his country. The day seems to have been pretty successful so far with the donation pile for the orphanage growing larger by each passing hour and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. By midday, everyone draws near to the stage where carollers had been moments prior, as the Queen makes her way across the stage to introduce Bucky for his first formal appearance as an impending king. Only when she calls his name out, he doesn’t appear and you realise you haven’t seen him all day, not since the afternoon prior when he’d left to rehearse. 

The look of worry and shock on the Queen’s face is enough to speak volumes and a hush of voices sound out from the crowd as they all come to the same assumption: Prince James the Second has abandoned his duty and therefore abandoned his right to the throne. Would he abdicate in such a cruel way as to put his mother in this position? You didn’t want to believe it possible but he should be here. There’s a tug at your sleeve and you look down to see Steve with a determined expression.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “I think I know where he’ll be.”

Following Steve’s directions, you wheel him away from the crowd and in the direction of the Aldovian Orphanage, a large brick building that had once been a cathedral but had been remodelled to make a home for orphaned children. As you push Steve around the side of the building, you spot Bucky immediately where he’s standing in what would be the orphanage’s garden, only it’s layered in snow. He’s not alone, surrounded by half a dozen children wearing clothes that look too ill-fitted and patched up to have belonged to them originally. There’s a snowman built in the centre of the garden, a big grin on his face made out of rocks, and Bucky stands beside it waving about a plastic candy cane as all the children stand to attention and listen to his speech. 

“This here snowman has been found guilty of treason,” he calls in a commanding voice, despite the threat of a grin taking over his features. “His punishment must fit his crime and so he must face the firing squad. On my count!”

The children all laugh giddily, standing straighter with each of them cupping a mound of snow fashioned into a snowball. 

“Gentleman, gentlewoman, take your aim,” he begins, the edges of his lips curling upwards. “And fire!” He leaps out of the way of the snowman, hoping to avoid the onslaught of snowballs only for children to turn with him, lobbing their snowballs at him as he begins to laugh and try his best to duck away. “Traitors!” he yells, his voice coming out breathless in between bouts of laughter. “Every last one of you, traitors!”

You and Steve can’t help but laugh as you watch Bucky slip about in the snow, trying his best to scoop up snow to throw retaliation fire as the children gain ground towards him. Steve looks up at you, grabbing your arm to pull your attention towards him.

“I think he could use some back up,” Steve points out with a little grin. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t - ” Before you can finish, Steve’s pushing you in Bucky’s direction with more force than you thought possible, and you let him, making a face. “Oh hell,” you murmur, before rushing in to help. Immediately, you’re pelted with snowballs and you let out surprised laughter as you collide with Bucky.

His arms come up to catch you and hold you up right, a large grin on his face as his eyes light up with recognition. You can only laugh in response, the snowballs still coming in heavy as you try and make yourself small against Bucky’s frame. 

He throws his arms up then, after tucking you behind himself, and yells, “Civilian caught in the crossfire! Hold!”

The children do as he asks and the snowballs stop flying as they all grin and wait for their next order. Bucky releases you, brushing a patch of snow from the shoulder of your coat, and for a moment you find yourself speechless. His eyes are incredibly blue up close and he looks so happy, with a flush of pink across his cheeks and his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grins down at you. It’s truly not fair. 

“Um,” you begin intelligently, before shaking yourself out of it. “Your mother. Um. The Queen! You’re meant to be giving your speech right now!”

Bucky’s eyes go wide and he looks down at his wristwatch before groaning. “Damn, I completely lost track of time.” He looks over to the band of children who are all watching him expectantly and he gives them an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry guys, I have to go take care of some business and I’ll be right back, alright?” The kids moan in response, looking crestfallen at the idea of Bucky leaving and he gives a little laugh. “Hey, none of that now, soldiers! Use this time to create more bases and ammunition, I’ll be back before you know it!”

He turns back to you, giving you a softer smile. “Thank you for reminding me, you’ve saved me at least half an hour in lecture time after all this is said and down.” He swoops down to press a quick kiss to your cheeks, so fleeting and fluid as though it’s completely normal to do so before he’s moving past you, patting Steve on the shoulder and jogging in the direction of the stage. Without realising it, your hand comes up to press to your cheek before you catch yourself and pull it away again. For all you know, it’s merely an Aldovian custom and not something you should look into. It’s almost embarrassing and you do your best to ignore Steve’s little grin when he asks you if you’d like to re-join the crowd for the speech in question. 

Later that evening in the safety of your room, you find yourself in a heated phone conversation with your boss.

“I just don’t think this is right. I mean, I could very likely get jailed for this if I’m found out! Probably! And it feels wrong,” you explain in a hushed tone, pacing the length of your bed.

Maxine huffs on the other end of the line. “I sent you there to get a story and you are in the perfect position to do so. Do you know how many other journalists manage to move amongst the royal family? Exactly none. This is your big break, you understand this right? You bring me back a story and you make your name infamous!”

“But… They’re the royal family, yes, but they’re also people. Buck - er, Prince James, he… he’s a person, he’s actually rather genuine and kind and I don’t think he deserves to be exploited like this.”

A dismissive snort sounds out in response. “Honey, they’re royals – exploitation is what they know. They’re used to having their names and deeds splashed across the press.”

“This feels a lot more personal,” you argue. 

“What, you’ve got a soft spot for the Prince, is that it?” Maxine asks drily. “Give me a break, no matter what you think you know about the Prince, you don’t truly know him. It doesn’t matter either way. It comes down to this: bring me back a story, or accept the fact that there will be no promotion in your future and that you will spend the next few years in the exact same average place in life that you are now. That’s all I have to say about that. Goodbye.”

“But – “

The phone goes dead before you can get out another word. Your heart feels heavy in your chest with all sorts of wrongness and you had known from the beginning this is all wrong, but it feels all the more real now. You throw your phone across the bed in frustration. The idea of hurting Bucky like this, even if you do exactly as Steve asked and report only the truth about him, makes you feel terrible because you’re still lying to him. It came down to matter of deciding whether your career or human decency matters more to you and you hate the fact that it’s even something you have to consider. 

A quiet knock at the door drags your attention away from your conundrum and you pad over, opening the door to find Bucky looking a little sheepish on the other side. He’s wearing an expensive navy coat and his hair has gone fluffy at the front, no longer smoothed down like it had been earlier, as though he’s run his hands through it one too many times. While he still looks unfairly good, he looks less like the crown prince and more like someone who’s a little lost in life and perhaps a little lonely. There’s a certain shade of sadness in his eyes that tugs at the heaviness in your chest. 

“Bucky, hey, is everything okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah, it’s uh…” The smile he tried on fades and he gives a little shrug. “It’s not exactly great, to be honest. I was hoping maybe you’d be up for a little evening walk? Only – only if you want to, of course, I know it must be strange for me to merely show up and… ask, but I thought I would… ask.”

You try to supress a smile at Bucky’s flustered expression and nod. “Yeah, that would be lovely. Let me just get into something a little more appropriate for the, err, weather outside,” you answer, looking down at the festive pyjamas you are wearing adorned with snowflakes and reindeers. 

“Shame,” Bucky says with a little grin. “They’re really very cute.”

It’s your turn to feel flustered as you shoo him away with the promise to meet him in the foyer in ten minutes. He does as he’s asked, nodding once at you before heading down the stairs and you close the door, leaning back against it for a moment and closing your eyes. You will the warmth in your cheeks to disappear, along with the fluttery feeling in your stomach, but if anything it only grows stronger. 

“What are you doing?” you ask yourself, groaning quietly before finally pulling yourself up right to search for something warm to wear.  
 


	3. three.

“So, how much trouble did you get into after today?” you ask, pushing your gloved hands further into your pockets as you and Bucky make your way down a cobbled path. It’s already growing dark with a soft snowfall occurring, small flakes of it landing in Bucky’s hair as he turns to you with a grimace. 

“A lot, but not enough, really,” he murmurs. “I deserved it. I didn’t mean to panic my mother but I can understand why she was as worried as she was. I haven’t exactly instilled a lot of confidence in her with my taking on of the role. As much as she won’t admit it, I think she is just as worried as everybody else that I will decide to abdicate last minute.”

“And… will you? You don’t seem exactly certain.”

Bucky sighs. “I couldn’t abdicate, no matter how I feel. It would break my mother’s heart and I think mine too, to some degree. To know that I was dishonouring my father and turning my back on my people. I may not be thrilled at the idea of ruling as king but I do not abhor it all together. It’s just… a lot to adjust to.” He turns to you, giving a small smile. “I suppose it must seem silly to you, to hear me complain like this.”

“Not at all,” you say, shaking your head. “No offense but I think I would hate to be in a position like yours. It’s a lot of power and responsibility and it’s forever, or as close as possible. I get why you might be hesitant but I admire your nobility. You’re stepping up, doing what’s expected of you, though you never asked for any of this.”

“Nobility,” Bucky laughs, the sound coming out almost bitter. “I think we can both agree I don’t have the lion’s share of that. A noble prince wouldn’t have been absent from his country for so long. I think it’s the one thing Brock has said that actually has any air of truth to it.”

You make a disgusted noise at the back of your throat. “He isn’t deserving of that credit. At least you know that no matter what you’re like as king, you can’t be worse than him.”

Bucky lets out a surprised bark of laughter, looking to you with a wide grin on his face that only grows when you look back at him with wide yes.

“I… am so sorry, I should not have said that to you,” you say quickly, mortification prickling over your skin.

“Don’t be sorry, I think you have a very valid point,” Bucky says, leaning in to nudge his shoulder against yours. “And thank you, that’s actually made me feel somewhat better about the situation.”

You give a relieved laugh as the two of you slow down and you realise you’re standing outside the royal stables. The snow is falling a little harder now as the smell of sweet hay and the soft murmur of nearby horses meet your senses. Bucky jerks his thumb in the direction of the stables with a little tilt of his head. 

“So what do you say, want to go for a ride?” 

Your eyes grow wide. “In this weather? Is that safe?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky says eagerly, reaching down to take your hand as he leads you inside. “Howlie has gotten me through far worse than this. This weather is nothing to him. Here, say hi,” he instructs as he leads you over to the first stall where a gorgeous black Friesian horse stands, looking back at you with large, intelligent eyes. 

“Wow,” you murmur, reaching forward to lightly pet the dark velvet of Howlie’s nose. “He’s absolutely beautiful.”

Howlie gives a soft whicker, pushing his nose forward into your palm before nodding his head up and down. Bucky grins, reaching over to pat his horse on the neck fondly before looking back at you.

“So is that a yes?”

As it turns out, riding through the snowfall on a horse with Bucky’s chest solid against your back and his arms around you keeping you steady is a lot more fun than you had previously thought. You find yourself laughing as Howlie canters through the snow-laden woods, surefooted and smooth in all his movements as Bucky holds you close to keep you steady. You can hear Bucky’s laughter in your ears as he leads Howlie over fallen logs and in between winding trees and you feel breathless with adrenaline as the cool air whips against your cheeks. 

By the time Howlie slows down, the snow is falling harder and you’ve stopped at a clearing where a wooden cabin sits undisturbed. Bucky slides off Howlie first, reaching up to take you by the waist and gently place you on the ground, his large, warm hands remaining on your hips to steady you. You fight off a blush, turning away from the soft blue of Bucky’s eyes to take in the cabin. Outside lights had flickered to life after being activated by Howlie’s entrance but the inside is dark and empty as Bucky lets himself in and gestures for you to follow. 

“Where are we?” you ask as you step inside, the cabin suddenly bursting to life as Bucky flicks a switch. It’s beautiful inside, as regal as the castle itself in all its furnishing but it has a homely feel to it also. 

Bucky kneels in front of the stone fire place, stacking up logs to begin a fire. “This was my father’s hunting cabin. He used to bring me up here all the time, sometimes to hunt but mostly just for us to get away. This is where I’ve been spending all my time when I should have been attending my royal duties,” he explains, looking up to give you a sad smile. “It helps me feel close to him.”

“It’s lovely,” you answer, moving forward to drop a hand onto his shoulder.

“You know, I need to thank you,” Bucky says suddenly, rising to his feet with the fire still unlit. 

“Whatever for?”

Bucky suddenly looks uncertain, sheepish, as he rubs at the back of his neck. “I don’t… It probably doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I don’t have a lot of people to talk to. I mean, I’m surrounded by people almost constantly but to find someone genuine, someone real… and you’ve listened to me griping without any complaint and it’s just… I really appreciate it. I know it must seem strange given the circumstances but I want you to know that I am thankful.”

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly distracted when Bucky takes another step towards you. It’s cold inside the cabin without a fire or heating, but you can hardly focus on that when you’re close enough to Bucky to feel heat radiating from him. It’s not quite enough to distract you from the guilt that’s building in your gut and you know you should say something, anything, possibly even the truth because it’s what he deserves but then his large hands are coming up to frame your face. His palms are gentle as they cradle your cheeks and he stares at you then, lips parted, as though he’s seeing you for the first time. 

It’s overwhelming being so close to him, having him look at you so intensely, but you can’t look away, you can hardly breathe. You can feel his breath brush against your lips, so close to his own as he leans in. His lips don’t quite touch yours as his thumbs brush against your jawline.

“Please don’t think me too forward,” he asks, voice barely above a whisper as his eyes search your face. “But I find myself not quite able to resist.”

You swallow roughly, moving impossibly closer. “You won’t hear any complaints on this end,” you manage, your voice sounding strangled as you continuing looking into the deep blue of Bucky’s eyes.

He grins then, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and then he’s moving in to press his mouth against yours. It’s soft at first, tentative, until you begin to kiss him back, pressing yourself to him in encouragement as he begins to deepen the kiss. One hand drops from your face to wrap around your waist, pulling you against him as though he’s terrified you’ll disappear and you’ve never been kissed so desperately or so deeply. He groans against your mouth the moment you pull apart, resting his forehead against yours with his eyes shut. Neither of you speak for a moment, the only sound in the room being your ragged breathing and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. 

Finally, Bucky’s eyes flutter open and he gives you a little grin. “I should go get some more firewood before we freeze,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t make any effort to let you go. His cheeks are pink suddenly and you realise that he’s blushing. How can it be that this is the womanising prince the tabloids enjoy slandering in every magazine? This man, who loves his brother and idolises his mother, who engages in snowball fights with children and looks at you as though you’re magic? It’s almost too much to take in. 

“Mmm, that would be a shame,” you respond distractedly, a little more focused on the feel of his fingers pressing against your back to keep you to him.

“I won’t lose you so easily to frostbite,” he says, reluctantly letting you go before giving you a little nudge towards the kitchenette area. “There should be ingredients to make hot chocolate in there, if you’d like? I’ll only be a moment.” He leans forward then to press his lips to yours again, chaste this time, but with feeling. 

You smile dizzily, nodding as you push him away so he’ll do as he said. With a little grin, he heads back into the snow and you begin rummaging through the kitchen drawers, unearthing mugs and hot chocolate powder and a little kettle. It’s while you’re looking for spoons that you noticed the second drawer from the top has a corner that’s lifted funny and when you try and straighten it, you realise it’s sitting askew because it’s a false bottom. Intrigued, you pull the false bottom out to find a large brown envelope beneath it. 

Instantly, you know this is something that you should leave well enough alone and yet… The curiosity burning inside you wins out as you take a moment to listen out for the crunch of footsteps that would signal Bucky’s return and hear nothing, allowing you to open up the envelope and pull out the documents inside. They’re official documents, marked with the King’s seal and signature and it takes you a moment to realise it’s a birth certificate. Not just a birth certificate, but a fake one, given there’s adoption papers for the same child. For James Buchanan Barnes. You feel your heart stutter before there’s the tell-tale sound of footsteps approaching. You push the documents back into the envelope and then push the envelope into the inside of your jacket, turning just in time to see Bucky enter the cabin. 

His hair is flecked with snowflakes and his face is pink from the chill of the wind, but he’s grinning wide with an armful of firewood. “I’ve realised that there’s quite an imbalance between us,” he says cheerfully. “You have heard so much about me but I know hardly anything about you. I think that needs to change, don’t you?”

Unable to trust yourself to speak, you give a small nod and Bucky looks pleased.

“Let me start this fire and then we can fix that.”

“What do you want to know?” you ask, your voice coming out strange and thick, the envelope burning against your rib cage. 

Bucky tilts his head, his eyes growing soft. “Everything,” he whispers. “I want to know everything.”

**\--**

You can’t quite believe the documents you have lying in front of you. Bucky is not the blood son of the King and Queen, he’s adopted, and given the strict laws around royal bloodlines, this means that he’s incapable of inheriting the throne. He can’t possibly know, after all he’s been so conflicted around his ascension, but the Queen does know and is willing to hide the truth in order for Bucky to become king. This is exactly the sort of scandal Maxine is hoping for and if you were to send this through as evidence, the story would spread like wildfire, creating chaos and racking up sales that would see your name on the lips of everyone as being the journalist who brought this news to light. It would set you apart, in fact, it would set you up for the career you’ve dreamed of. 

And yet, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. This isn’t just some person you’ve never met, this is Bucky, a man you’ve not only come to know but also grown fond of. This is his life, you can’t be so callous and cold-hearted to throw him to the wolves by selling his story, but you can’t sit on this information either. He deserves to know but how can you possibly be the one to break it to him?

A knock on your bedroom door sends you scrambling as you gather up the documents and haphazardly shove them back into the envelope before moving to the door, trying not to appear as guilty as you felt. Steve stands on the other side, bundled up in several layers of sweaters and scarves as he gives you a hopeful grin. 

“I think it’s time you come through on your tobogganing promise,” he tells you, and you force a smile, casting one glance back at the envelope on your bed before grabbing for your coat. 

“Okay then, lead the way.”

It’s been an age since you last went tobogganing but you find yourself growing a little excited as you and Steve drag the toboggan through the fresh snow towards a perfect slope. It takes a little longer, given you have to stop every few minutes to allow Steve to catch his breath but despite how many times you ask him if he’d prefer to go back, he’s determined and soldiers on until you reach the slope. 

Yet his bravery has diminished now that he’s sitting on the toboggan, looking down the incline of the slope with his face as pale as anything. 

You reach out to touch his shoulder. “Steve? Are you okay?” 

“I…” he trails off, before looking up at you, sheepish. “I’m scared. I’m so breakable, what am I thinking?”

“Hey, you’re not breakable,” you argue, frowning down at him. “No matter what anyone has told you, you’re strong and you’re capable and you can most definitely do this.”

“What if something happens?”

“Like you have some fun?” you counter, giving a little smile that grows wider when Steve smiles back at you. “Come on, we can do this,” you tell him as you climb onto the back of the toboggan and wrap your arms around Steve’s narrow waist. “Let’s go!”

Steve takes in a deep breath, his frail chest inflating before he’s pushing forward and the toboggan moves down the slope, gaining momentum as you both slide down the hill. A startled sound rattles from within Steve’s chest that is soon replaced with laughter which you join in with, the two of you letting out excited wallops as you speed down the slope. When you come to a stop at the end, you’re both breathless with laughter and Steve is already asking to do it again. 

You help him to his feet so you can drag the toboggan back up the hill when a snowball hits you in the shoulder. A second one flies past you to hit Steve in the chest, and you both look around wildly for the culprit before your gaze lands on Bucky standing at the top of slope, grinning down at you.

“Hey!” Steve cries out, grinning. “We’ll get you for that! Come on, let’s teach him a lesson!”

Bucky laughs at the challenge, sliding down the slope as both you and Steve begin to hastily form snowballs to pelt him with. Steve’s a surprisingly good shot, managing to get Bucky in the stomach and the shoulder, while Bucky manages to duck everything you throw at him. You rush forward to try and lesson the distance to improve your shot, having to leap out of the way of Bucky’s snowball that has you shrieking. The three of you are laughing and screaming at each other, snow covering you all from head to toe, and you’re about to try pelt Bucky with another snowball when he suddenly advances on you, grabbing you to knock the snowball from your hand. You’re unsteady on the snow as it is and the sudden feel of his hands on you has you slipping, dragging Bucky down with you.

You land flat on your back in the snow, looking up at Bucky who hovers above you. He seems stunned by the sudden position but then his mouth curves at the edges, a soft smile appearing as he looks down at you, until a snowball is lobbed at the side of his head. He tosses Steve an annoyed look and Steve merely shrugs.

“This is war, may I remind you,” Steve says plainly before throwing another snowball, and Bucky growls, peeling his body off yours to throw a handful of snow over Steve’s head. 

He reaches down to help you up and you gratefully accept the help, only to press snow into Bucky’s face with a shriek of delight. An hour passes easily with the three of you playing about in the snow, only calling it quits when Steve grows pale and tired. 

Bucky helps you get Steve back to the castle without being seen by the guards or Mrs Almere, dropping him off at his room so he can have a warm shower and get into some dry clothes. You’re about ready to do the same when Bucky stops you in the corridor. His hair is wet where it peeks out from under his dark beanie and he looks more relaxed and happy than you’ve ever seen him. It hits you with startling clarity that you can’t find it in yourself to tell him the truth about who he is and you’re both relieved and angry at yourself in equal measures. 

“I, uh, I made you something,” he begins, his hand moving to his pocket. “I’m nowhere near as talented as my father, mind you, but I thought it’s only right you have your own ornament now that you’re a member of our household,” he explains, removing his hand from his pocket and holding out a small, hand-carved wooden star ornament. 

You take it from him carefully, your fingertip trailing over the delicate groves. “Oh Bucky, it’s beautiful. I love it, thank you.”

He smiles. “You’re welcome. Shall we go put it on the tree?”

You nod, taking his proffered arm as he leads you down the hallway, while trying to ignore the clenching guilt that is slowly devouring you.

**\--**

The evening of Bucky’s coronation suddenly arrives and you hadn’t realised your attendance would be required. As much as you wanted to be there to support Bucky, you’d been sure the event was for royals and those with titles, only for Steve inform you that you had to be there, the morning of the coronation. Luckily, he had been able to pull some strings and find you a gorgeous gown to wear with a silver and pale blue lace bodice that flows into a floor length tulle skirt. You look at yourself now in the mirror, twirling a little and watching your dress float around you, unable to ignore how lovely you look. You had braided your hair up into a style that is common among the upper class in Aldovia, hoping not to bring attention to yourself tonight. 

With one last once over, you decide it’s time to go downstairs to the ballroom where the party is currently commencing in anticipation of the impending coronation. At the bottom of the grand staircase stands the Queen, flanked either side by her sons who are both looking dashing in their royal suits of dark navy with gold and red trimmings. When you met Steve’s eye, he flashes you a thumbs up and a little grin, while Bucky can only stare at you for a moment, his lips parting as he blinks quickly and finally moves forward to greet you. 

“You look,” he begins, taking your hands in his own, “incredible. I – wow.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you answer, flushing under his gaze before remembering that you’re currently surrounded by the entire upper class of Aldovia, including the Queen who is watching you both through intrigued eyes. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I almost wasn’t – I didn’t think I was invited until Steve told me otherwise this morning,” you confess, distracted by the way Bucky’s thumbs brush over the backs of your hands gently. 

“Well thank God for Steve. I feel a lot better knowing you’re here.” He makes a face. “It’s a big day, if you didn’t know.”

You give a quiet laugh. “You’ll be absolutely fine. You’re going to be amazing.”

An uncertain expression crosses Bucky’s face, so quick you nearly miss it for he’s giving you a small smile. “After all this is, uh, done, I was wondering if we could maybe talk.”

“Yes,” you murmur, feeling the anxiety in your stomach turn to lead. You know that you need to come clean to Bucky after the coronation, you can’t put it off any longer. “There’s a few things I need to talk to you about, also.”

Bucky nods, giving you one last small smile before the Queen is dragging him away to meet with yet another important figure in the Aldovian government. You move to Steve’s side, grateful for his company and commentary as usual as you watch the last of the guests arrive and wait for the coronation to take place.

“You look worried,” Steve mentions finally, watching as you stare mournfully down into a glass of wine. “What’s on your mind?”

“The truth,” you tell Steve plainly. “I need to tell Bucky, I can’t keep this up any longer.” You’d half expected Steve to argue but to your surprise, he nods as though he’d expected this.

“I thought as much and I suppose it’s better he finds out now, by your hand, than by anyone else’s. But I think – I hope – that he will come around and understand it.”

“Of course he won’t,” you choke out bitterly. “I’ve lied to him this whole time. All of this is such a mess.”

Steve reaches over to squeeze your hand, trying to catch your eye. “He cares for you, a lot. A blind man can see that. Sure, it’s not the best of starts but I have a feeling Bucky will overlook a lot of things if it means getting to keep you around. You… you care for him also, right?” A hint of concern sits in Steve’s stare but you know he has nothing to worry about.

“More than I care to admit,” you sigh.

Steve smiles. “Then I would not worry. These things always work themselves out.”

“The things?” you ask, shaking your head. If he means your lies and deception, then you weren’t so sure.

“Yes,” Steve says confidently. “Matters of the heart are messy but come right for those that are true.”

Before you can say anything more in response to his strange little answer, the attention of the room is suddenly cast forward onto the stage where Bucky now stands, looking as regal as ever as he looks over the room with the solid stance of a man about to take control of a whole country. He is asked to kneel, which he does so gracefully and accepts the golden sceptre and orb in each arm as he begins to pledge his vows to the country of Aldovia. He looks so serious, so determined, that you feel your heart grow full and break all at once. A crown is held above his head, the dozens of jewels encrusted in the gold shimmering under the lights, as the crowd is asked if anyone objects. You find yourself holding your breath as the room goes silent until one voice calls out. 

“I object!”

You look up to see Lord Brock standing at the front of the room, a bunch of papers in his hands as he smirks at his cousin with all the arrogance of someone who believes himself to have won. 

“On what grounds, Lord Brock?” The Queen asks, her face furious. 

Lord Brock’s smirk only grows bigger. “On the grounds that he is not the legitimate heir to the throne. Aldovia asks for a King of blood inheritance and that is not Prince James for I have right here in my hand, his adoption certificate and a fake birth certificate that signifies he is not truly of Barnes bloodline.”

A ripple of gasps run through the crowd and you feel Steve grow tense beside you. When you look over, you can see he looks confused and crushed, the same expression mirrored in Bucky’s expression as he rises to his feet. He looks so broken as he searches for his mother’s face, a pleading look in his eyes as he implores her to tell him this is not true. You feel your own heart break when a single tear runs down the Queen’s face, sentencing Bucky to the truth.

“I am afraid it is true,” the Queen explains, her voice strong though it wavers in places. “To my husband and I, James is our rightful son. While he was not grown in my body, he was grown in my heart, and you all know yourself, he is a king in his own right. He is the king Aldovia deserves.”

“But Aldovia demands a king of blood!” Lord Brock continues. “One cannot simply turn their back on a centuries old law because it suits them!”

“Where did you find those documents?” the Queen asks, her voice growing cold as she glares down at her nephew. 

“So you admit, you tried to cover up the truth and lie to your people?” Lord Brock sneers. “I did a little searching of my own because something didn’t quite add up,” Brock explains, turning slightly to send you a haughty smile and you feel your entire body grow cold. It happens almost in slow motion. You see everything exactly as it happens before it occurs but you’re trapped, unable to change the course of action. “I uncovered two secrets at once you see, for I didn’t believe young Steve’s nurse was who she said she was and it turns out, I was right. She’s a journalist, going undercover to unearth the secrets of the royal family and it just so happens she found the biggest secret of them all: Prince James the Second is not the rightful heir to the Aldovian throne!”

You are certain your heart must’ve stopped. You can hear nothing, feeling nothing, your lungs won’t move. All you can do is look to Bucky but he’s not looking at you. His eyes are on the floor, his face waning in colour, and his jaw is clenched impossibly tight. All the eyes of the room have landed on you and you feel impossibly small beneath the dark gaze of the Queen that’s baring down on you.

“Is this true?” the Queen asks, her voice near gravel.

“I – uh – Your Majesty, I – yes, I am a journalist but it was never my intention to expose your son and I – “

“Enough of this!” Lord Brock calls out, waving his hand in your direction dismissively. “Have the guards take her away and be done with that nonsense. We must focus on the matter at hand: Aldovia is in need of a blood heir and I wish to put myself forward for consideration.”

A murmur of voices rose among the crowd again, this time uncertain and almost horrified which causes Brock’s smug smirk to wash away into irritation. The Queen looks stunned, her mouth moving wordlessly, until Bucky’s voice sounds out through the room and leaves it completely silent. 

“No,” Bucky says firmly, finally dragging his gaze from the floor to look out across the room. There’s steely determination in his eyes now, but it’s cold and distant and a far cry from the warmth they usually hold. “You may be in line for the throne, dear cousin,” Bucky spits, “but you are not the first in line. Mother, tell me, is Steve your blood son?”

The Queen’s eyes widen but after a moment’s pause, she nods. “In my eyes and in my heart, you are both my true sons. Yet after James and I married, we were told I would never be able to conceive. All I wanted was a son and when you were born into the world with no parents and no home, it was perfect, like you were always meant to be ours. Then two years later, Steve came into the world by my own body. A complete miracle. He is of King James’ blood.”

Bucky nods, his face a perfect mask but you can only imagine how much the truth is hurting him. “There you have it. My brother Steve was never considered to be king as he was made to stand in my shadow. Yet while they were trying to mould me into the perfect ruler, Steve was born as one. He is everything our grand country needs to remain brilliant and to grow better. There is nobody who knows more about the history of Aldovia, of it’s laws and traditions and what makes us so unique, and there is nobody who loves this country more than he. He loves everything about it, he is compassionate and wise, fair and brave. He has never considered himself a king because the option has never been there but here it is, Stevie, presenting itself to you, and I implore you to rise up and become who you were truly meant to be. A brilliant king, the king Aldovia needs and deserves, and I will remain by your side for all of it, I promise you that.” Bucky’s eyes remain on Steve now as the rest of the room also turn to look at him. 

Steve looks completely shocked, unable to speak given his surprise at the change of events, and then Lord Brock’s voice sounds once more.

“Steve?” Lord Brock sneers. “You would rather the country was run by someone so… so… breakable? That’s absurd!”

A muscle in Steve’s jawline flickers and you watch as he straightens himself up as tall as he can go. In this moment, he no longer looks like the sickly prince you were first introduced to, but a man who is sure of himself, determined, and there’s a fire now lit within him that won’t ever be put out. 

“Not breakable,” Steve murmurs, almost to himself, “but capable.” He clears his throat then, and looks about the room, sharing a glance with his mother before looking back to Bucky with a firm nod. “I accept the crown and with it, my duty to and responsibility for Aldovia.”

Lord Brock spluttered indignantly, trying to protest this when the Queen ordered for the guards to remove him from the premises. In almost no time at all, Steve is up on the stage cradling both the sceptre and orb with the crown hovering above his head as he recites his vows perfectly. The Queen watches on with proud tears in her eyes and as does Bucky, though his eyes look distant. Within ten minutes, Steve is rising to his feet only this time he’s wearing the crown and he is named King, with the entirety of the room bowing to him in recognition. 

It’s at this point that Bucky turns to slink off and you make the decision to follow him, knowing you had to try and explain as best you could before the Queen has you sent away also. You follow him through a back corridor, trying to hold up the long skirt of your dress to allow you to move quicker and you call out to him. He slows at the sound of your voice before stopping, his back rigid beneath the stiff fabric of his suit jacket. 

“Bucky, please let me explain,” you beg, slowing down once there’s only an arm’s length of space between you. “What Lord Brock said, it’s not…”

“True?” Bucky asks, turning to you with a blank expression. “I wish I could believe that but I and everybody else in that room heard you admit to my mother that you are a journalist. What else were you here for if not to dig up some dirt?”

“I – “ Thick tears have already begun to spill down your face and you choke on them, fighting for the magic words that could somehow make this all better. “Okay that part is true but you have to believe me, I never intended for this to happen. I don’t know how he found those documents, he must’ve broken into my room, but I was never planning on taking those to the press.”

“Oh really? So what, you just had them for safe keeping? Why must you continue to lie to me? At least be honest with me now and admit you came here for a story.”

You shake your head, openly sobbing now. “Everything just got away from me, this became something I never intended. I never wanted to hurt you, please believe me on that.”

“I don’t know what to believe. As far as I’m concerned, you pretended to be my brother’s nurse to get a story and make yourself a nice little profit. It’s unbelievable. What if something had happened to him?” Bucky demands. “What if he’d gotten sick? How irresponsible can someone be? You not only lied but you put Steve in danger!” Bucky’s expression changes from angry to crushed and when he speaks again, his voice is only just above a whisper. “I don’t know who you are,” he confesses, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who I am.”

“Bucky,” you choke out as he goes to turn away. 

He looks back at you, his eyes hard. “Given we are less than acquaintances, I think it’s best you refer to me by my proper title. Or refer to me as nothing at all, given this conversation is over. Good evening.”

You don’t follow him, watching through tears as he disappears down the corner and you let your sobs take over. Footsteps sound from behind you and you know you should go now before the guards catch up to you, that you need to grab your things and head to the airport, to get as far away from here as you can. The footsteps come closer and then there’s a gentle hand on your arm. 

Wiping your face in attempt to brush away the dampness of your cheeks, you find yourself looking at Steve who looks at you with concern, even with his crown still perched atop his blonde hair. Fumbling, you try and offer him a weak courtesy which he waves off. 

“There’s no need for that,” Steve says kindly. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s Bucky. He’s completely crushed and I don’t blame him.”

“Did you really know? About the adoption papers?”

You give a miserable nod. “I found them at your father’s cabin and I didn’t know what to do with that information. I promise you, I was never going to sell them to the press. I just didn’t know whether to tell Bucky or not. I figured the Queen had kept it secret all these years, there didn’t seem any chance of her saying anything now.”

Steve gives a deep sigh. “I know it’s going to be hard for Bucky to come to terms with all this but I think, in time, he will come to see this as a good thing. He will appreciate the truth, be glad that there are no more secrets.”

“I really hope so.”

“And he’ll forgive you, I’m almost certain of it,” Steve says gently but you shake your head. 

“No, he won’t, and why should he? All I’ve done is lie to him. The best thing I can do is leave before I cause any more trouble.”

Steve looks stricken. “No, you can’t leave,” he blurts out, looking horrified at the thought. “That will make all this look worse if you just… disappear! I know things seem bad now but if you just stay, we can work all this out and… and…”

“What, you think he’ll just forgive me and we’ll fall in love like this is a goddamn Hallmark movie?” You blurt out, shaking your head furiously. “He hates me and for good reason!”

“No!” Steve grabs your arms to hold your gaze. “Please, listen to me. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Please, just, give this a chance. For me, even?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry for everything. Despite it all, it’s been wonderful getting to know you and I,” you take in a shuddering breath, “I wish you only happiness and success in your future. Like I said, I know you’ll be a wonderful king.”

“You can’t just leave!”

You break away from Steve’s grip, already turning to make your way down the corridor, moving quicker when you hear Steve try to follow you.

“Please, you can’t go! I – I – I command you to stop!”

You pause, turning around to look at Steve. His eyes are damp as he looks at you imploringly and you give him the smallest smile you can muster. “Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

**\--**

It’s been almost a week since you left Aldovia in disgrace and your life has changed drastically since then. When Maxine had found out you had been sitting on a tabloid goldmine but didn’t share it with her, she was furious and when you offered up a true story of who Prince James was, she wanted nothing of it. She called it a fluff piece, too sentimental, with none of the grit she had been expecting of you. You had decided in that moment you could no longer work for a company that didn’t share your morals, one who would expect you to exploit someone in the worst way with no regards to the lives that would be ruined. 

It’s been hard to accept you’re now a free-lance writer with almost no job options, but your father had been kind enough to take you on at his diner until you found your feet again. You’d enjoyed picking up the shifts, getting to spend time with your father was nice and most of the regulars were lovely. It also gave you time to write and you had decided to go ahead and make good on your promise to Steve, creating a blog and posting your article on the truth behind Prince James, detailing the kind and humble man that the media have tried to demonise. 

By the time New Year’s Eve rolls around, you’re feeling somewhat more like yourself. You’d volunteered to work at your father’s diner to let the other staff have the evening off and you’re humming Auld Lang Syne to yourself as you clear the last of the booths. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to head off early, pumpkin?” your father asks as he comes around with a tray stacked with dirty dishes. “I can finish up here if you want to go meet up with your friends.”

“It’s fine dad, I’m happy to be here. And who better to spend New Year’s Eve with than my dad, hey?” you answer, giving him a little smile. He laughs, pressing a scratchy kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the kitchen with all the dishes. You take in a little breath, trying to ignore the crushing hurt in your chest that you’ve been doing your best to avoid when a snowball hits the window of the diner. 

You peer out the frosted window, expecting to see a gaggle of teenagers high-fiving each other for getting a scare out of you, but instead you find the last person you expect to be standing outside of the diner. Bucky. 

Throwing down the cloth you’d been using to clean the table tops, you stumble outside into the snow in something close to a daze, hardly caring about the fact you’re not exactly dressed to be outside in a snowfall. You peer at him in confusion, half expecting for him to vanish in front of your eyes given how absurd this seems. 

“Hello,” Bucky calls out, a small smile on his face. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I feel as though I might’ve,” you answer shakily, crossing your arms over your chest to combat the cold. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I’m not entirely sure myself,” Bucky confesses, tucking his chin into the tartan scarf wrapped around his neck and looking a little sheepish. He looks adorable with his cheeks and nose pink from the cold, his eyes bright. “I blame Stevie, mostly. He, uh, he explained everything. You know, about the fact he’d asked you to stay on and write the article and everything. He even showed me your blog and I read it for myself. It’s… it’s very good. Is that conceited for me to say? I don’t know but it seems to be doing really well.”

You give a little nod, unsure what to say. It’s true, your blog had nearly 40,000 views within a week since you’d posted it, an almost impossible feat. 

Bucky reached up to rub at the back of his neck, continuing, “After I calmed down, I realised that everything that happened was for the best. I was never going to be a wonderful king because I couldn’t give it my all but Steve… He’s incredible. He’s appointed me as his right hand man in his royal council so we’ll be, uh, running the country together in a way, which is great. The adoption thing… after I sat down with my mother and we talked it over, I realise it doesn’t matter. She’s still my mother and my father… will always be my father. In a way, it’s made us closer.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “What I’m trying to say is… I just want to tell you that I forgive you, if that’s what you need to hear. I’m not angry anymore. What happened wasn’t great but… it made way for better things to fall into place so I almost feel I should thank you.”

You groan, shaking your head. “Please don’t. That would only make me feel worse.”

“Noted.” Bucky grinned. “Despite everything, I don’t regret meeting you. And I, uh, I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket, gloved fingers fumbling for something small. 

A strange thought flies into your head and you’re suddenly panicked. “Oh god, please tell me you’re not about to propose,” you blurt out, horrified. 

Bucky looks equally as horrified and shakes his head quickly. “No, no, I – what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know! You royals are so weird with that type of stuff, you’re always getting engaged after minutes of knowing one another,” you rush out, an almost hysterical laugh bubbling in your throat. “I mean, we only knew each other less than two weeks and you don’t… really even know the real me.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Bucky says, a suddenly fond look coming across his face as he steps closer to you. “But as it turns out, I’ve realised I want to change that.” He presses something into your palm and you look down to find the hand-carved star ornament he made you sitting there. “You left it behind,” he explains. “And I really want it to be with you, no matter where you are. I… I know this is ridiculous but… there’s just something about you. I want to know the real you, no matter how long it takes. I don’t want to just forget about you. I want this. Us.”

“I…” you trail off, biting back a smile. “I want that too. So much.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, before noticing how much you’ve begun to shake. “Christ, doll, you’re freezing. What sort of prince am I, keeping you out in the snow like this?” He chastises himself, opening up his coat and bringing you to him. “We should get inside.”

You shake your head. “Not yet,” you murmur, moving closer to him so that your bodies are pressed up tight together, his coat encompassing almost all of you. His warmth burns into you, his smell overwhelming your senses, and there’s nowhere else you would prefer to be. You look up, studying the beautiful slopes of his face and those intense blue eyes looking down at you, and smile. “This is perfect.”

“Almost perfect,” Bucky corrects, before he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's be real, princess emily deserved to take the throne in a christmas prince and we ALL KNOW IT. also i can't believe in the film they got engaged after """knowing""" each other only two weeks. it's so ridiculous and i love it. 
> 
> w/e, w/e, if you made it to the end of this garbage, well done and i hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> joyeux noël! ♡

**Author's Note:**

> i apologise for NOTHING.
> 
> a christmas prince was ridiciulous and awful and i loved it but i finished it thinking, i could write a prince bucky au about this and here we are. truly not sorry.
> 
> this is completely un-beta'd with various plot holes (like why would they hire someone from another country??? idk plot convenience i guess!) and mistakes but i figured i needed to keep to the 'a christmas prince' aesthetic as much as possible, so. 
> 
> merry christmas! happy holidays! seasons greetings and all that! enjoy!


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